Marcelle peered through the gaps in the gate. A dragon likely watched the river’s exit. If not, a human on the other side could hold his breath, cut the slats, and escape through the tunnel. Still, such a feat was improbable. The tunnel to freedom was little more than a wormhole, and very few men were small enough to squeeze through. Certainly a warrior of Adrian’s size and build couldn’t have made it, and the slaves probably never considered sending a woman or a child.
She pulled the viper from the scabbard and began sawing through one of the slats just a foot or so below the surface. The water was clear enough to see several feet down, making her work easily visible, but with the pain in her ankle still growing, even the slightest effort seemed a chore.
Soon, the slat broke away, and she moved the blade to the one below it. It made sense to try an underwater escape, but how far could she swim upstream before coming up for air?
After several minutes, she had broken enough slats. It was time to squeeze through and face the dragons. She returned the sword to the scabbard and listened for any sign of their presence. Not a sound except for the intermittent slurping behind her.
A loud splash erupted from the river just beyond the cave’s opening. A dragon flailed in the water, roaring and spewing flames. Blood poured from a gaping wound in its belly and spread throughout the water, tingeing it red.
Marcelle ducked under the surface and swam through the hole, then dove deep to get below the wounded dragon and avoid being seen. Whatever was happening up there, it had to be good. This distraction might be her only chance.
Zerath descended toward the wall, Adrian still dangling underneath. The flight had been fast and rough, and Cassabrie had said very little, only a warning to be submissive and to continue appealing for Arxad’s aid. If more dragons heard his appeal, having witnesses might help his cause.
Below, two dragons stood on the wall’s top, a wide road with a parapet on each side. When Zerath descended, Adrian touched feetfirst, but Zerath pushed his full weight on Adrian’s back, forcing him to crumple. As Zerath stood on top of him, he dug his claws through Adrian’s cloak and into his skin.
The other two dragons shuffled closer, and Zerath addressed them in a guttural drawl.
Lying on his belly, Adrian gasped for breath. Zerath’s weight was bad enough, but those claws stung mercilessly.
“Here is the fire starter,” Cassabrie said. “He signaled so that he could surrender.”
“Are you translating?” Adrian whispered.
“Yes. Since they assume that most slaves know their language, they are not using it to hide their intentions. It’s just easier for them.”
The larger of the two dragons replied with what sounded like a series of clucks and then the lowing of a cow.
“Surrender?” Cassabrie said. “Does he not know the punishment that awaits him?”
As the dragons conversed, Cassabrie continued her translations.
Zerath shifted slightly, relieving some of the pressure. “I did not ask, but he immediately appealed to Arxad.”
“Arxad?” The smaller dragon spat out a tiny ball of flames that splashed against one of the waist-high parapets. “That meddlesome priest is too softhearted.”
“Yes, he is softhearted,” the larger one said. “But that is to be expected. He has never had to deal with lazy, stubborn slaves.”
“I heard he wants to close the cattle camp. How would we cull out the weaklings if we were to do that?”
The larger dragon bobbed his head as if agreeing, but his expression looked doubtful. “I have heard Arxad speak, and he is not siding with the humans. His reasoning is often sound. If the slaves think we are cruel to the children, they are less likely to work hard. They will do as little as possible.”
“The sting of a whip will change that.”
Zerath raised his voice, cutting off the other two dragons. “Save the political debates for later. If we all agree that he should be summarily executed, then we will not have to worry about protocol.”
“Kill him,” the smaller dragon said.
The larger one drew his head closer to Adrian. Adrian tried to look as innocent and friendly as he could, but with the clawing foot ripping his skin, holding back a grimace seemed almost impossible.
“Make him stand. I want to have a better look at him.”
The weight lifted, allowing Adrian to breathe more easily.
“Get up,” Zerath ordered, now speaking in the human language.
Cinching his cloak to keep it closed, Adrian rose slowly to his feet as he whispered. “I’ll need your advice, Cassabrie.”
“Ask them their names, and tell them you will speak highly of them in Magnar’s presence, that they were vigilant, that their eyes were sharp, that no one can escape with them on duty.”
Adrian bowed his head, then looked at the three dragons. “I hope to speak in Magnar’s presence, and I wish to tell him the names of the sentries who brought me to his justice. I have already become acquainted with Zerath, and if I also learn your names, I can tell of your skill in finding me. Magnar will likely be glad to know that the boundary is well fortified by such vigilant dragons.”
“I am Starmeer,” the larger dragon said. “And my sentry companion—”he stretched a wing toward the smaller dragon—”is Ortmoll.”
“If you allow me to live,” Adrian said, “I will remember those names and speak highly of you to Magnar.”
Starmeer drew his head close and sniffed Adrian. “Your odor is not like that of other slaves.”
“Tell him you were in the Fragrance Fields,” Cassabrie said. “The flowers have masked your normal stench.”
Adrian sniffed the shoulder of his cloak. “The Fragrance Fields. I walked through the flowers, and they are hiding my stench. Humans need a splash of perfume every now and then, don’t you think?”
Starmeer laughed while Ortmoll growled something in the dragon language, apparently speaking to Zerath.
“What did he say?” Adrian whispered.
“I will not repeat it. It was obscene.”
“His cleverness amuses me.” Starmeer stretched out his wings. “I will take him to Arxad myself.”
Ortmoll stepped in front of Starmeer, again speaking in the dragon tongue.
“A clever slave is a dangerous slave,” Cassabrie said. “Such talk is nothing more than condescension. While he plays at being humble, inside he is laughing at you. Humor is best squashed by executions. We cannot allow that poison to spread.”
While the three dragons continued speaking, Cassabrie remained quiet for a few seconds. Then, as the discussion grew animated, she stretched out her words. “This is not going well, Adrian.”
“What do you mean?” he whispered.
“They have decided to kill you, and they don’t seem to care whether or not you know their intent. The only issue that remains is how to dispose of your body. I suggest that you consider a plan of escape.”
Adrian looked at Zerath’s belly. The legends said that every dragon had a vulnerable spot there. Indeed, the scales didn’t quite meet at one point, but the exposed area was no bigger than his thumb. It would take a perfect sword thrust. Yet, even if he could slay the beast, the two other dragons would incinerate him before he could withdraw his blade from the first one.
He looked over the parapet on the river’s side. The drop wasn’t too far, maybe twenty feet, easily survivable, but could the dragons swim and follow him underneath? Even if not, he would have to come up for air eventually, and he would then be an easy target.
While slowly reaching under his cloak, he slid closer to the river side of the wall. Ortmoll stood within reach. This wasn’t a great plan, but it was the only one he had. He withdrew the sword, drove the blade into Ortmoll’s belly, and leaped to the top of the parapet.
With the sword still in his gut, Ortmoll flew at him, fire blazing from his mouth. Adrian ducked under the flames, grabbed Ortmoll’s neck, and jumped toward the river, using the dragon’s momentum to
haul the huge beast with him.
Screaming wildly, Ortmoll clawed at Adrian and whipped him with his wings, but Adrian hung on. The moment they splashed into the river, he let go and dove deep into the warm, clear water. Above, the dragon flailed. Blood spewed, clouding the view.
Adrian glanced in every direction. Which way? The fall had spun him around. He stared straight ahead. The wall stood there. Wrong direction. But what was that shadow passing over his head? Someone swimming? A woman? Marcelle!
He swam up to meet her. Did she know about the other two dragons? She carried a sword, but that wouldn’t be enough. He had to warn her.
He reached up and grabbed her free hand. In a flurry of swinging limbs and jetting bubbles, she attacked. Her blade, slowed by the water, swiped by his cheek, missing by less than an inch. She drew back, a hand on her chest. As another stream of bubbles flew from her nose, she shouted, “Adrian!”
An enormous splash erupted nearby. Zerath! The dragon looked at his fellow guard briefly before scanning the area. His red eyes gleamed. Above the water level, a shadow passed over, likely Starmeer waiting to scorch any head that appeared.
Adrian shed his saturated cloak and jerked out his hatchet. It was time to fight, futile though it seemed.
Zerath began a slow swim toward them. As he opened his maw, jagged teeth and a darting tongue appeared. Marcelle grabbed Adrian’s arm and pointed at the wall. They paddled furiously toward it, Marcelle leading the way. She slipped through a hole in a wooden grate and disappeared.
After swimming through the hole, Adrian turned and, still under water, hid behind the wall, ready with the axe. The dragon’s head darted through. Adrian slashed at its eyes, but the water slowed the axe too much. He couldn’t make a dent.
Zerath snapped at Adrian, barely missing his face. Adrian thrust backwards. The dragon’s body couldn’t break through the hole, but his neck was long enough to bring those sharp teeth within range.
“Adrian!” Cassabrie called. “Trade weapons!”
Trade weapons? He looked up. Marcelle swam toward him, a sword extended. The dragon snapped again. His teeth tore Adrian’s trousers and ripped away a long strip.
Adrian shoved the axe into Marcelle’s hand and snatched her sword. With the next dragon lunge, Adrian stabbed at Zerath’s face. The short blade pierced between two facial scales, deep enough to make his attacker flinch and recoil.
Marcelle chopped at Zerath’s neck, though her blows did little good. Adrian’s lungs burned. Dizziness flooding his mind, he continued to jab, aiming at Zerath’s eyes. Finally, Marcelle grabbed his arm and hauled him to the surface.
Air! Adrian sucked in deep draughts. It never tasted so good.
Marcelle pulled him to the opposite side of the wall, but they could go no farther. They paddled in place, both gasping for breath. “I don’t think … the hole’s big enough,” Marcelle said, coughs interrupting her words. “The dragon … can’t get through.”
Adrian slowed his breathing. “His head can get pretty far.”
Zerath’s head popped above the surface. Two lines of steam blasted from his nostrils and splashed against the wall between Adrian and Marcelle.
Marcelle lunged with the hatchet and hacked at his eyes. Adrian joined in with the sword, forcing Zerath to shield both eyes with his scaly lids. Now unable to see, he blew a stream of flames from his mouth but missed badly.
Zerath drew back, blinking. Marcelle surged ahead and hacked again, this time landing the hatchet’s blade in the dragon’s left eye. Fluid spurted. Zerath roared. Fire erupted from his mouth and both nostrils, spraying wildly.
Adrian lunged for Marcelle and dragged her below the surface. Zerath’s head slid under with them and then back through the hole. After a savage swipe at the grate with his tail, he swam away.
Adrian and Marcelle resurfaced, again gasping.
“Now what?” Marcelle asked.
“Do you still have the hatchet?”
She shook her head. “I think it’s embedded in its eye.”
“We should go. One dragon’s dead. Another is half blind. Maybe the third will be distracted. We’ll just swim underwater as far as we can, come up for a gulp of air, and then keep going. If we stay here, they’ll figure out how to break through and fish us out.”
“Give me just a second.” Marcelle inhaled and exhaled three times before nodding. “I’m ready.”
Leading with Marcelle’s sword, Adrian ducked underwater and glided through the hole. When Marcelle caught up, they swam side by side through a cloud of red and under Ortmoll’s carcass, now floating with half its body submerged.
Adrian thrust himself up, pulled his sword from the dragon’s belly, and hurried back down to rejoin Marcelle. He returned the viper to her and, after finding his cloak at the river bottom, scooped it up and tied it around his waist.
Once he reached clear water, he surveyed the scene. The north-flowing river seemed to be about twelve feet deep at the center, and the channel spanned about thirty feet, getting steadily shallower on each side. The current streamed into his eyes, bringing with it an occasional fleck of algae he had to blink away, and dozens of silvery fish, most no longer than a finger, darted about in seemingly choreographed moves.
He kept glancing up, looking for a shadow. Starmeer was out there somewhere, probably waiting for a chance to scorch their hides or pluck them from the water, like an eagle snatching a fish with its talons. Surely he was able to follow their trails. The water stayed clear, and every motion sent a line of bubbles streaming toward the surface.
Ahead, the river narrowed and grew shallower, presenting more problems. For now, an immediate danger demanded their attention. They had to breathe.
He tightened his grip on the sword. If that scaly eagle swooped down, he would get the fight of his life.
Looking at Marcelle, he pointed upward, hoping to signal his intention. She nodded. It was time. Jabbing with swords as they surged toward the surface, Adrian blew out all his reserves, getting ready to heave in another gulp. When they splashed into the open, he stabbed empty air.
Marcelle, her own sword also uplifted, sucked in deep breaths. She swung her head from side to side, slinging droplets. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know.” Adrian looked back at the wall. At the top, a dragon staggered, holding a wing over his eye, roaring mightily. “I see Zerath,” Adrian said, “but Starmeer’s nowhere in sight.”
“If you looked in the correct direction, you would find Starmeer.”
Adrian twisted toward the voice. At the eastern bank, Starmeer sat on his haunches, strings of black smoke rising from his nostrils. A growl rippled through his words. “Since you have slain a dragon, I have the right under the law to kill you. You cannot appeal to Arxad.”
Still breathless, Adrian paddled hard with one hand to stay in place. “But the only reason I killed Ortmoll was because of your refusal to heed my earlier appeal to Arxad.”
Starmeer breathed a long, “Hmmm.”
Cassabrie whispered. “Well done, Adrian. Now ask him to grant you free passage. You will not mention his earlier mistake to anyone.”
Adrian took in another deep breath. Hearing Cassabrie again took him by surprise. She had stayed silent for quite a while.
“Starmeer.” Adrian tried to inject legal propriety into his tone, though treading water made it much more difficult. “Since I surrendered, surely you know that I trusted in your sense of justice. I was shocked that a trio of dragon guards would bypass such a noble and merciful law and resort to taking the law into their own … uh … grasp. Yet, I could tell that you were torn, that you were pressured into joining the other two. So, I appeal now to your integrity. If you will allow us free passage—”
“Stop the gibberish!” Starmeer extended his neck and eyed Marcelle. “Who is this woman? A conspirator in a plot to assassinate dragons?”
“Not at all,” Adrian said. “We did not conspire to kill anyone. With your sharp eyesight, you must have noti
ced that she was already in the river when I fell. She had nothing to do with Ortmoll’s death.”
“Was she attempting an escape?”
Marcelle spoke up. “If you wish to learn of my activities, why don’t you address me?”
The dragon spat a ball of fire. Adrian and Marcelle ducked under water just in time. The flames sizzled on the surface above them and vanished. When they resurfaced, Adrian whisper shouted at Marcelle, “Let me handle this!”
She glared at him. “Suit yourself.”
“As you can see,” Adrian said, turning back to Starmeer, “we are at a stalemate. You cannot harm us from there with your fire breathing. And if you choose to enter the water …” He lifted his sword and flexed his muscles. “You have seen my skill. My companion’s skill is equal to mine. We will not die easily.”
Starmeer continued puffing lines of dark gray smoke. “I am no fool, slave. I see through your façade, but I also see that granting your request is the better option.” He waved a wing toward the bank. “Come out over here. If you want to live, you must hurry. Zerath still has a good eye, and when his pain eases, he will hunt for you without mercy.”
Gesturing for Marcelle to follow, Adrian swam toward the shore. As they climbed to dry ground, their clothes heavy and dripping, he looked upstream. Of course, he had no idea which way to go, but that direction led away from Zerath, and Cassabrie would be sure to guide them later.
He pushed back the cloak, still tied at his waist, and slid his sword into its scabbard, then gestured for Marcelle to sheathe hers. “We thank you, Starmeer, and—”
“Spare me the guile, you deceiver, and be on your way. Do you think I care nothing that you killed my fellow guard and wounded another?”
“Say no more, Adrian,” Cassabrie whispered. “Do not even look him in the eye. Turn upstream and walk quickly away. I will tell you where to go.”